Like this:

Amore and Dolce have always been our ‘go-everywhere’ dogs. Where we go, they go. To the store, into town, over to friends, the girls tag-along. And, it never fails, where they go, they attract attention. I mean, come on, two big Berners? Sittin’ side-by-side? Tails a-waggin? Loopy grins on their faces? A day doesn’t go by without Malcolm or I receiving some type of comment on the girls.

Take them to the store and immediately Dolce and Amore jump into the front seats as we exit the vehicle. Other store patrons chuckle over seeing our two dogs, respectfully sitting upright in the driver’s and passenger’s seats.

On occasion, we spy people discretely pulling out their phones to snap a quick pic of our prom queens in their limo. They always say it for someone else. Yeah, right.

Amore and Dolce soak up the attention. They paw and preen, even do the leaning thing against stranger’s legs as they are ooh’ed and ahh’ed over on our walks. In an instant, they are the Grand Marshals of the parade. All important. All expectant of the praise. Passing out doggy smiles and paw waves like they were throwing penny candy to the spectators.

A few weekends ago, Malcolm and I took the girls up the mountain to hike around in the Aspens. It was a truly beautiful day. The leaves had already initiated their pageantry of yellows, oranges, and reds as we headed up the trail. The sky was crystal blue. The air crisp with the scent of pine boughs and cones. Amore and Dolce were in canine heaven. New scents and a new trail were theirs for the taking. Along with more adoration from strangers.

I doubt we had gone more than twenty yards up the trail, when we were stopped by a group of tourists asking about the girls. “What kind of dogs are they?” “Can we take a picture with them?” We paused for the Kodak moment.

Another thirty yards and we were hailed by a family with young children. “Can I pet the doggie?” a brave little lass asked in a small voice. With nods of permission, she stepped forward to give Dolce a small caress on her head. Dolce, sweetheart that she is, laid down at the sneaker-clad feet of the little girl, rolling over for a belly rub. Giggles erupted from the child as Amore licked her face. Little ones are a favorite with our girls.

The next mile was broken up with no less than eleven groups of hikers all asking about our dogs, slowing down our parade up the hill.

In between, Malcolm and I tried for our own photo-op of our dogs. I had visions of the perfect Christmas Card. The girls had visions of more dog worshiping. Of them. By others. Cuz they don’t get enough love at home. NOT!

Every time we stopped for a selfie, people would stop to pet Amore and Dolce. Every time we would strike up the band to move on up the trail, strangers pumped us with questions about the breed of Amore and Dolce. Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade through New York moved faster than we were getting hiking up the trail.

When we heard there was a small creek up ahead and around a bend, we made that our destination. The girls would be able to wade in to cool off. Malc and I would be able to scout for suitable location for our holiday photo shoot.

With the creek in sight, I found a good-sized boulder to prop against, the girls found the shallow water, and Malcolm found a fellow hiker to take a few pictures.

Click. Click.

“Come in closer.” Click.

“No, closer.” Click.

“You’re too far away.” Click. Click.

That’s the great thing about digital pictures. You can delete all the crappy ones and it hasn’t cost you a thing. Out of 50 or so pictures, we actually had quite a few that were decent. A couple were card worthy, a few were blog worthy.

The best ones were with our Grand Marshals. Amore and Dolce were the hit of the parade.

When Tiamo had her litter, the pups averaged about one pound each with Dolce and Amore weighing in at .98 lbs and 1.5 lbs respectively. They were so tiny you could nestle a single puppy in the palm of your hand and still wiggle your pinkie and thumb. Within 48 hours they had doubled their weight. We were impressed.

And slightly nervous…

With Momma supplying the nutrition, each puppy easily grew two to four pounds a week. By the time the little tykes had opened their eyes they had gained some solid substance. They had outgrown our food scale we used to weigh them, and the palm of our hands as we held them. It now took two hands to hold our roly poly’s. We knew the puppies were healthy, which was a good sign. It was also a sign of things to come.

When we added chow to their diets, Amore and Dolce were tipping the scales at 14 pounds, give or take a few ounces. With their fat bellies, they were nothing but huge balls of fur. Now that I think back on those times, they were bigger than huge. It was time to be scared. But noooo, we were oblivious to our future.

14 lbs. It’s all relative. To a weightlifter, 14 lbs. is nothing. They single-handedly lift weights many times that. To us, fourteen pounds is huge when it is all wiggly and squirmy. For us, fourteen pounds is really twenty-eight pounds. 14 lbs. times two. You never just get one dog on your lap, you get both.

Fourteen pounds can make your wrists ache. And your back twinge as you pick the pups up in your arms. And 14 pounds will soon be 100 pounds. 100 lbs. times two. We were screwed and there was no going back.

When 14 lbs became 34 pounds in a little over a month later, we knew we were in trouble. Our food costs doubled as they ate more and more, and our vet bills tripled. And both girls wanted to sit on us or be beside us. And there was Tiamo, our momma. We were a household of dogs. Our life was never gonna be the same.

At six months Amore and Dolce hit 65 lbs., friends would comment, “Oh, my!” as one of the dogs would lean up against them, causing them to lose their balance. “Just look at those paws! These are gonna be some big dogs!” We knew that. Yup, we knew that.

Sixty-five pounds cranked up to 84 lbs by the time they had their first birthday. We were never gonna return to normal. Our lives just became all about our girls. Momma weighed in at 98 lbs. and here were two more fast approaching three digits on the scale. Within the next year, we were going to be looking at 300 lbs. worth of lap-dogs. Two-thirds of which were still puppies. Yikes!

Over the next two to three years a Berner could easily add another 10-30 lbs onto their frame. Well into their second and third year, Bernese Mountain Dogs will continue to lay down bone, put on width and substance, and their heads will continue to broaden. Amore and Dolce were no exception to the general rule of Berners being slow maturing dogs.

Three years old, Amore and Dolce finally grew into their bodies but they were far from mature. They still had their puppy on. For over 36 months, Malcolm and I would look at each other and ask,”when will they calm down?” “When will they grow out of their puppy phase?” “When will they quit growing?” We were at the 200 marker: 200 pounds of puppy plus 100 pounds of chow a month costing us $200 every 60 days. We were exhausted.

I can honestly say, to this day, they haven’t. Grown out of their puppy years that is. Well, not completely. They take longer naps and have quit chewing shoes and books, but Amore and Dolce will always be our puppies. Our girls. And the best gifts we could have ever given ourselves.

At eight years of age, Amore and Dolce hover just under 100 lbs. each. Dolce is slightly heavier from eating too many apples, Amore is slightly higher in height. Both fight over who gets to sit on Malcolm or me. We have resigned ourselves to dog hair in our wine and canine bodies in our laps.

There is an old Swiss saying, “Three years a puppy, three years a good dog, three years an old dog and the rest is a gift.” It’s an accurate description of Bernese Mountain Dogs.

Like most pet owners, nothing brings us more joy then seeing our beloved four-legged children happy. And we go out of our way to bring them nothing but an abundance of happiness and comfort. We buy them special treats and toys, make sure they have soft cushiony pillows to sleep on, take’em on walks. We love’em, pet’em, provide for them.

Malcolm and I have found a simple scratch behind the ears and Dolce is in ecstasy. Eyes closed, you just know she is in heaven. Amore adores a rough love down. Rub her sides and back haunches like a deep massage and she is in bliss land. One of the few times she’ll stay still.

They go berserko when it’s time for their hikes, initiating a barking frenzy until loaded into the car. 365 days a year we take them out to the Galisteo basin for their daily walks. Through rain, snow, wind and cold, we suffer for their happiness. Our girls love the cold. Us, not so much. But we do it cuz we know how much joy it brings them.

“Man, Amore was one happy camper when she spotted a jack rabbit on our hike today!” Malcolm relayed to me when I got home from work. “She took off after it like a shotgun blast! Of course, she only ran about 40 yards before she tuckered out.” Malcolm chuckled over the memory. “She came back all shiney eyed and excited!” Amore is our scout, always on the look out for adventure.

Over the years, we have narrowed down Dolce and Amore’s happy list to three main activities. We are talking happy camper activities here. Total happiness. Total joy. Two of the three are seasonal. The third is daily. And just so you know, treats are a given so they aren’t on the list.

Snow.

There are no two ways about it, Amore and Dolce love the snow. On occasion they even sleep in it, only to come inside covered with white and hop on the bed at four in the morning shaking off the wet debris. Snow days are happy camper days. The girls would live and breathe snow if it was available on a regular basis. So we bundle up like Ralphie in the Christmas Story movie and take them to play. We freeze our asses off, along with our noses and our toes to watch Dolce make snow angels and Amore run through the powder like a dolphin. Their joy brings us joy.

Then there is our harvest.

About every four or five years, if we are lucky enough, come late August through October, we get apples. Our girls love apples. No, you don’t understand, they loooove apples. Love to snap those shiney red orbs off of the low hanging limbs. Love to lay down in the cool shade of the branches and stock pile the fruit. And they love to eat’em.

The second she hears the portal door opens, Dolce is out, with Amore on her heels. They’ll beeline down to our lone fruit tree and burrow into the apple-laddened nirvana. I’m serious here, this tree is their heaven. You can see their eyes fold back as they tug an apple off it’s mooring. We watch as they each back up, apple in their mouth and drop the red fruit onto their growing pile of fruit. Like a kid in a candy store, Dolce and Amore don’t know which apple to chomp on first. The girls are in their element and they couldn’t be happier.

On a daily basis, Dolce and Amore bring happy to our hearts. And, on a daily basis, Dolce and Amore get their third happy. It’s their special time that has become a ritual.

I like to get up early, get ready for work, and then enjoy a cup of coffee before leaving to head into town. I feed the girls, grab a mug and read a bit on my iPad. One by one, Amore and then Dolce come by for their early morning snuggle. First Amore, always a bit restless, she’ll hop up on the couch lay her head down for a few minutes and then go search out her next adventure. A scratch on the belly, a rub behind the ears and she is off and running. Then it’s Dolce’s turn.

Dolce knows the drill. She positions herself on the sofa, backs up into the couch pocket and gives me the nod. She knows with a certainty, I’ll gently pull her back into my arms. It her cuddle time. They say dogs don’t like to cuddle. They lie. My Dolce could stay for hours nestled besides me. For the next 40 or so minutes, Dolce is in her happy place, content with nuzzles and hugs. And me…….

When Amore was in her teenage years, she was a handful. Headstrong, willful, she refused to “sit”, “stay” or “come” when we called to her. Totally blew us off. Even with the promise of a treat, she would ignore us when we issued commands. Oh, she heard us alright. We would see her ears twitch, her head would cock to the side, her little brain thinking and then she would give us her tail. The canine equivalent to flipping us the bird.

Malcolm would put on his serious voice, deepening the word as he gave the command. “Come” he would say in his stern sargent’s voice.

“Come!” he repeated, sharpening the directive.

“Amore! COME!!” he said for the third time.

Amore gave him the look and went back to what she was doing. There was no “three-time’s-a-charm” ol’ college try. And, after the third repeat, dogs really don’t tune in anymore. All they hear is yada, yada, yada, etc., etc., etc., and so on and so on and so on.

After talking to a dog trainer, we realized Amore just didn’t like the word “come”. Why? It started with a “C”. Poor baby, it hurt her ears. It seems a lot of dogs comprehend “H” and “W” word commands easier. Who knew?

Word commands such as HERE, HEEL, HUPP (H + up), and WAIT, are more pleasing to their ears. All one-syllable words. Words like HOLD, HUGG, WHERE, WALK, and WHAT (to be said when furiously barking) became synonymous with the old standards of, come, sit, follow, up, stay, stand, no, load up, fetch and find.

Malcolm and I liked the new commands, not only were they one-syllable, but they were mostly four-letter words. Always a good feeling to spew those. In the past, there was nothing like a four-letter word to get the point across.

G.A.W.D D.A.M.N it D.A.W.G. C.O.M.E.! Screamed in frustration.

or, my favorite,

F # & K – N.O.T.T. my N.U.T.T.s, said in pain as Amore jumped, paws first, on Malcolm as he was spawled on the couch.

We switched our command to “HERE” (minus the gawd damn) and lo and behold, Amore obeyed. Came wanting her treat, but she came none the less. We now say “WAIT” to Amore before allowed to sit on the sofa, with all body parts preserved. HUPP is for the girls to load up into the car for a WALK, and HUGG will get you a cuddle and dog licks as their paws wrap around our waist.

And Malcolm and I, we have a running joke about what Amore and Dolce actually hear……..

In the wake of social media and networking apps came selfies. A high angle shot held steady by a selfie stick or an arm stretched to the high heavens, selfies are designed to appear casual and natural. No airbrushing, no photo-shopping, and more importantly, at no cost. Selfies exaggerate the size of ones eyes and minimize any double chin you may be working on. The appeal of selfies came about from how cheap and easy they are to create and share. Almost instantly. The best part is the control they give the self-photographers over how they look.

It’s safe to say Kim Kardashian is officially People magazine’s queen of selfies. She has legitimately earned the crown by taking Twitter, Instagram, and other just-click-here media outlets very seriously. She even has her own set of selfie rules she adheres to. Not a day goes by without some comment, tweet or article rambling on about Kim’s latest picture post. Well, move over Kim, there is a new bitch in town.

It didn’t take long for selfies to cross-over into the canine world. Doggie self-portraits are popping up all over the internet in dog blogs and pet sites. Pup pics, pooch Polaroids and puppy photos are filling up Instagram and Twitter accounts. Pinterest is over-flowing with dog selfies. Do a quick google search on mutt mugs and thousands of images of Fido selfies can be found.

The selfie trend took hold right around the time the girls were born and Amore jumped on the Instagram craze like a house on fire. At three weeks, Amore took her first selfie. A shy peek-a-boo portrait with big puppy eyes and paws.

Next came her pensive selfie. Two months old and she already knew her good side.

As Amore aged, her posturing adapted to her personality. Her selfies emphasized her crazy, the photos defining her complex individuality.

The selfies continued.

And continued. Amore went selfie happy. No photo went unposted.

She had only one rule. She had to be front row and center in the picture. She didn’t share film or credits.

Football is a given in our American culture. It ranks fourth on the list behind apple pie, hotdogs and baseball. However, it’s not a sport I ever imagined our girls liking, let alone enjoy playing. I’d like to know when our dogs became such footballs fans. And, I’d especially like to know when they became such good defensive linemen.

Take Amore for example….

Like her offensive counterparts, her defensive linemen dog approach lines up directly on the line of scrimmage, close to the ball, or in her case, the closest available human. Good defensive linemen dogs are big, strong, and alert. They are quick to react to the snap of the ball or movement of her human and can get up field to jam up the offensive blocking scheme in a nano second.

If it’s a run play, she’ll play a good gap defense and make the block using whatever moves and dexterity she has in her arsenal to get to the quarterback, i.e., Malcolm and/or myself. If it’s a passing game, Amore will disrupt the timing of the throw or try to make either one of us hesitate just enough to make her play. And just like that, (finger snap!) Amore’s block is a success.

in uniform, ready for action!

Her first tactic is to walk right besides us, usually from the right side of the field. Pacing her paws in time with our gait and with a slight increase in speed, Amore angles her whole body across our path. Shoulders down, paws wide apart, Amore comes in for the interception. She puts her all into a full body block to interrupt our field play.

Amore plays the game of football in the trenches, going nose-to-nose with our knees. Her mission, rushing one of us and stopping the running path directed up the field. Her goal, stopping Malcolm for a 30 second time-out for some extra love and petting. She knows she has scored once Malc starts to rub her sides and shoulders.

And then there is Dolce….

She plays more of a defensive back position. Rather than blocking us, she likes nothing better than to defend against pass plays by covering Malcolm and/or myself from completing the play. In a rushing situation, Dolce’s job is to contain the human either by forcing one of us out-of-bounds or by tackling us herself. Dolce is the last line of defense for a walk-block and pet, especially if Malcolm or myself have gotten past Amore.

Her fave blocking technique is to come from behind, swoop in between our legs, and lift the back of her head up to our crotch. It’s a guaranteed ball block with a 90% guarantee of interception. Her odds of a loving pet are high enough that the bookies in Vegas give her a 21 point spread against her opponent.

Her tackle is assured if I have a skirt on. Less so with jeans. Once we’ve come to a full stop to give her a rub behind the ears, Amore joins the fray for her share of scratching.

So the next time you’re watching a football game, keep your eye on the trenches. Underneath the dog pile you just might see Malc or myself calling foul!

It starts out innocently enough. The day is one of those beautiful New Mexico ones with brilliant blue skies, almost cloudless. The temperature not too warm, not too cool, a slight breeze ruffling the leaves. The dogs hear my keys jingle as I grab my purse, their normal exuberance expanding from mild interest to all out frenzied commotion as they spy Malcolm and I heading to the garage.

Little do they realize, this trip is all about them.

“Come on,” Malcolm calls to out to Dolce and Amore. His added, “load up!” is overshadowed as the pandemonium of paws hustle to be first in the car. Dolce is out the door and in the car before the garage door has fully risen on its hinges. She ducks under the door as the remote button is hit, giving her a two foot clearance to squat n’ scramble. Amore is a tail’s length behind. In a dog’s world, there is nothing better than a road trip. Anywhere. Their excitement knows no bounds when it comes to a ride in a car. Whether it’s just a 2-mile jaunt to the Agora or an hour drive down the hill to Duke City, the joy is in the adventure not the destination.

Only, this expedition is neither.

Dolce is panting, her euphoria at just the thought of riding shotgun on full mode. Amore is in the back, intoxicated by the scents blowing in from the partially rolled-down back window. Her nose is scrunched and wiggling as she takes in all the flavors. Both drooling with happiness. Both bark at people walking on the hike n’ bike trail. Both bluster when they see another dog on a leash. They have no idea where we’re going, just happy to share the outing with us.

We turn left at the light. Right means a walk in the Galisteo Basin Preserve. Left means we’re heading into town. We blow past the first two exits off the freeway. The girls aren’t concerned, lowering their heads for a little cat-nap. Malcolm takes the next off ramp, his right blinker clicking a steady beat. I glance back at the dogs.

“I’m glad we harnessed and leashed them at home,” I comment. Should we take them out the passenger door or the hatch?”

“Let’s use the side door, we’ll have more control over them.”

“You take Amore, you’re stronger. I’ll grab Dolce from my side.”

Driving around the clover-leaf, Malcolm merges on to the road we want. We only have a mile or so more to go. Amore pokes her head up to peruse the area. Recognition hits. Her left brow perks up an inch higher than the right. She tenses. Immediately, Dolce feeds off of her tension, her own unease starting to build. She knows. Both girl’s bodies tighten with apprehension. I see their fear mounting. The whites of their eyes are prominent. The gig is up.

We jumped the shark.

They know where we are. The beautiful day, the wonderful car ride, the family togetherness, has just declined drastically. Their day is no longer in the top ratings. They both look at us with reproach. How could we! How could we do this to them. Swiftly, their day has gone to hell in a hand basket and our hell is just starting. There is nothing I can do to distract them. There is no gimmick on hand or ruse I can use to entertain them. That shark has been jumped. The girls know where we are headed. From here on out, it all goes downhill. They start to freak.

Malcolm pulls into the paved parking lot. We are at our destination.

“Want me to go check in first? Or do you want to just go ahead and bring them on in?”

“Let’s bring them in.”

“You sure?” I question. “Maybe there is a back door we can use.” I’m not so sure about this. Previous experience has taught me Dolce and Amore are not gonna like this. Period. This is worse than death to them. “Nah, they’ll be ok.” Malcolm has eternal faith. I have none.

I open the side door to grab Dolce’s collar and leash. She bolts past me, springing from the back seat to open territory, her leash trailing behind her. Amore sees freedom and follows. All hell breaks out. The dogs are barking something fierce, sprinting through the parking lot. Malcolm is cussing profusely. I’m freaking out.

I leave Malcolm to deal with the dogs and go on in to the reception desk. I scan the waiting area. Crap! There are four other dogs and one cat. Not good. Sooo not good. Crap! Crap! Crap! I was really hoping to see zero number of dogs and no cat.

“Hi, I’m here for Dolce and Amore.” I give her my best you-didn’t-just-see-them-escape-from-the-car-and-the-dogs-are-running-wild-in-your-parking-lot look.

“Here, sign in and we’ll call you when the….” her voice trails off as Malcolm enters from outside with Dolce and Amore. On leash, but barely. I have never seen a place erupt into chaos so quickly or so loudly. Barking, yelping, whining. and very disgruntled meows echo off the stuccoed walls. Bedlam takes place. Four dogs and a cat have joined in the McFarlane Berner chorus. Their handlers add their two cents, sending the evil eye to our girls and perturbed looks to Malc. Amore and Dolce are barking. The visiting four dogs are barking. The lone feline is squalling in its carrier.

We are at the vet’s.

The place our darling dogs know only as where they get shots, surgeries, and reprimands to lose weight. In nothing flat, we jump the lengthy waiting line of patrons as the vet-tech shows us to the furthest exam room from the lobby. Management’s way of bringing quiet to the canine riot Amore and Dolce have created. Removal of the instigators. Evacuation of the problem children. Banishment. The noise level drops straight off. Well, at least in the lobby it does. The girls are still voicing their displeasure at how their day has turned out. Let it be known Amore and Dolce do not like the vet clinic. If this day was Happy Days, the series would be terminated. Immediately. The Fonz a distance memory.

Amore and Dolce are weighed, tested for Heartworm, and receive a rattlesnake booster. In short order: Dolce outweighs Amore by seven pounds. It’s diet time for her. The booster shots are administered and the huge heartworm pills are to commence on June 1 and halt on November 1. We exit as fast as we can, the door slamming our asses with big bruises. Dogs in the car, Malcolm punches the gas.

Over the years, Malcolm and I have watched jealousy fits spike between Amore and Dolce. One has a bone, the other doesn’t. Dolce is riding shotgun in the car, Amore wants to be. Amore is on the bed, Dolce covets her spot. Paws hold down the toy, growls are disposed, fights ensue, each dog is sent to their timeout corner. Detention is given to the misbehaving mutts. Treats taken away.

We have watched Dolce tense and snarl when Amore comes to close to her bone. We watch as Dolce tucks her bone under her paw, her head lowering just above. A deep rumble emits from her throat in warning. Amore antagonizing Dolce over the treat. Dolce fighting back.

We have seen Amore literally pushing Dolce off the front seat as they establish who will be riding shotgun. Dolce scrunched against the car door as Amore thrusts her 100 lb. frame into the seat. Neither giving so much as an inch of chair up in ownership of the front, both fighting for supremacy over who gets to ride shotgun.

Riding shotgun!

We chuckle over Amore keeping Dolce off the bed, refusing to allow her up on her reign of the soft mattress. It usually takes Malcolm holding on to Amore so Dolce can jump up and grab a corner of the bed.

It’s a whole different story when the jealousy is between Malcolm and myself. Oh yeah, we each sing a different tune then.

In the beginning, way back when we first had Tiamo, I wasn’t working. I was an equal caregiver, getting up to feed our early riser, walking Tiamo around the loop to tire her for the day. Malcolm had the evening shift. He would take her on another trek around the loop, and worked on Tiamo’s training. I gave her belly rubs and messages. Malcolm gave her rides in the car. Tiamo’s love was pretty much evenly dispersed between the two of us.

And then I got a job.

I still tended to the morning mutt chores, feeding the girls as I prepared for work. I would give each dog some belly scratches just as I left to drive into town, leaving Malcolm with the girls for the hours I was gone. Upon my return home, I had three eager dogs waiting for me to enter though the garage door. Malcolm was like the proverbial housewife that hands over the baby when dad walks through the door. He had the dogs all day, it was my turn to have ’em.

Slowly, as my days at work turned into years, I watched a pattern emerge.

I saw the girls getting more excited to see Malcolm than me. I watched them scramble to head out to the garage as they heard the garage door pulling up, chomping at the bit to reach Malcolm before the other. I only receive wagging tails once I am inside the house. If we happen to stop at the store, I watch how vigilant both girls are, waiting for Malcolm to return. Their eyes never leaving the front entrance of where he disappeared. When I take them up to the grocery, I find them fast asleep in the back as I unload the cart. I notice how Amore and Dolce look to Malcolm for guidance on our walks, running to him for treats, listening to him give commands.

I have to admit, there is a big, fat, ugly green-eyed monster sitting on my left and my right shoulder. I am a little envious of this lop-sided affection. Okay, I’m a lot envious. Alright, alright, I’m flat-out jealous of how the dogs go to him first, how they go bonkers to sit by him, how they hang with him in the den at night rather than with me. My pouts of “they love you more” are volleyed with “but I have them all day” comments from Malcolm. Obviously, my internal ploy to minimize their devotion to Malcolm isn’t working.

I’ve concluded Amore and Dolce might “favor” Malcolm just a little more…. but I love them more! Ten times more! So there!

Vanity Fair. A magazine worthy of the rich, the famous and the celebrity. Glossy pages filled with stick thin models touting the latest from Vuitton, Chanel, Gucci, Dior and Armani. Articles on Saudi Princesses and Hollywood Queens are filed in between regular columns and Editor’s Letters. And in the way back, literally on the last page of each monthly print, sits the Proust Questionnaire.

The Proust Questionnaire is a one page canvas of a world-known entity, known to us lessor folks as celebrities. Once a month, a well deserved VIP wittingly answers prosaic questions such as “How would you like to die?” and “What is your most overrated virtue?” and so on.

I’ve often asked myself how would Dolce and Amore respond to such an interview.

If VF showed up in the dog pen, here’s how it would go…..

Proust Questionnaire

Dolce and Amore

At age 4, Dolce and Amore were the youngest canines ever to be featured in a cookbook, for their role in eating whatever fell to the kitchen floor. Almost three years later, the star’s of If It Falls On the Floor, It’s Mine! cookbook admits their lifelong yearning to own every bone there is.

Q: What is your idea of perfect happiness? Amore: steak! Then cheese, next would be green beans – woof! Dolce: A smoked bone, grrrrrr, mine!

Q: What is your greatest fear? Dolce: Being left behind on a trip in the car

Q: Who is your favorite hero of fiction? Amore: Ol’ Yellow Dolce: Tramp, with a bowl of spaghetti, yummm

Q: Which living canine do you most admire? Dolce & Amore: Marley and Giant George

Q: What is the trait you most deplore in others? Dolce: Amore stealing my food or my bone

Q: What is your greatest extravagance? Dolce & Amore: Shoes

Q: What is your favorite journey? Dolce: A trip to the grocery store! Amore: Running away from Papa Malcolm

Q: What do you consider the most overrated virtue: Amore: Behaving

Q: What do you dislike most about your appearance? Dolce: Panting, the rest of me is damn near perfect Amore: Drool, it’s so unbecoming

Q: What is your greatest regret? Dolce: Losing my bone to Amore

Q: Which talent would more like to have? Dolce: Bone maker

Q: When and where were you happiest? Amore: I’m always happy! Dolce: Woof! Me too!

Q: What is your current state of mind? Dolce & Amore: Happy in the land of enchantment

Q: What do you consider your greatest achievement? Amore: Flunking obedience school – now that was fun!

From behind me, I heard the soft ping of splatter hitting a hard surface. Seconds later, another drip followed. A sort of pling…. pling…. pling sound vibrated through me. The drops of moisture I envisioned were quietly being announced by the audible drip, drip, drip sound coming from somewhere behind my back. I was in the kitchen preparing dinner for Amore and Dolce, as Malcolm was away for the weekend. When one of us is traveling, all household chores falls on the other. Supper for the dogs being one.

I instinctively knew the kitchen sink faucet had bitten the big one. Gone on to faucet heaven. We’d been having trouble with our sink faucet. The swivel arm was reduced to a “left-side” only rotation, the handy-dandy nozzle handle only pulled out about a fifth of its length, and the water pressure was down to a weak flow. The week before Malcolm left was filled so full of busy, we told ourselves we would deal with the faulty faucet when Malcolm got back into town.

Damn! Just my luck the sink faucet died while Malcolm was gone. With a heavy sigh, I prepared myself to clearing out the underneath junk pile of trash bins, scrubbers, rubber gloves and cleaning supplies, crawling on my back to hunt for the turn-off valve. I was going to have to deal with replacing the faucet on my own.

Another splash, louder this time, had me turning around to glare at the offensive faucet. Only the faucet was dripless. Dry as bone. Nothing. Nada. No drip. No mess. Nope the problem wasn’t with the leaking faucet, but rather with the girls. Both of which were obsessively oozing dog drool, while eagerly waiting for their kibble feast.

Dogs drool. There’s no getting around it. They drip, dribble, drop, drivel and drool. Boy, do they drooooool. One large, dog infused drip at a time. Times two. Amore and Dolce both are droolers. Both are heavy slavers. Malcolm and I have dealt with dog slobber and wet spots going on near seven years. Ten if you include Tiamo in the mix.

Those whom know and understand dogs, know there is no telling what that dog drool is mixed with – there is no telling where a dog’s tongue has been. And there is sure as hell no telling what a dog has put in it’s mouth.

We have learned to discretely wipe our drooled upon hands against our jeans before greeting friends and acquaintances. We have quickly positioned couch pillows over pools of moisture when guests go to sit on the sofa. We have become adept at hiding all slobber evidence. We have mopped more floors than the average housewife and we have changed clothing more than a super-model on the runway. We keep hand sanitizer in every room and in the car. Dog drool does that to a person.

There are two things I am thankful for… The first being, we have brick floors throughout the house. It’s an easy clean. And second, Malcolm got to deal with the faucet!

“I have my rooh-tine,” Malcolm tells me as I ask him about his day. He’s a southern boy and some words he drag-asses out. Just as he likes to drag out the morning. Me? I’m usually up and out first thing so I mostly miss the his ‘morning rooh-tine’.

“Fur-rst,” Malcolm informs me, “I mosey on out to the kitchen while the dawgs are clamoring for attention. Their tails are furiously whaagging, but they keep their distance until I’m able to pour some coffee and nud-ke it in the mic, warming it up. Once they hear the beep of the microwave starting its radiation, they know I have 1 1/2 minutes to give them their morning L.O.O.O.V.E. and they zero in for the kell.”

“Ahhhh,” I coo. The girls are so cute trying to edge out the other when it comes to getting attention. The competition between them can be fierce. Two hands, two dogs. Each hand goes out to pet the girls. But Amore is only interested in keeping the other hand off of Dolce. And Dolce is only concerned with pushing Amore further away than an arms stretch. The most you can hope for is for Dolce to stay on the right and Amore keeps to the left.

“Yeah, it’s phunny how Dolce and Amore know when it’s their time,” He continues. Okay, now, I’m making fun of Malc’s southern drawl, which I love by the way.

“And then what?” I question.

“Well, then it’s S & M time,” he grins proudly. S & M time? Is there something I need to know? Something he hasn’t told me yet. Thirteen years of marriage and the things you learn about your spouse. I wait him out.

“Yeeep!” Malcolm chuckles. Sofa and Malcolm time. That’s when they know I’ll let them up on the couch, while I’m reading the paper. Dolce waits along side of me while I position the pillows and get sit-u-ated.” Again, Malcolm draws out his words and his story. Once I’m prone with a blanket and my coffee, Dolce leaps over my legs to the back of the couch and settles in for a nap. Amore takes the spare space by my feet.”

Malcolm loves his dogs and loves having them next to him. The coffee tastes sweeter when the dogs are up close. The paper reads better when surrounded by Amore and Dolce. The sofa softer. And his day perfect, when all the elements of his ‘rooh-tine’ come together.

“Once the NY TImes is read, we all take a lit’ nap,” he finishes.

“A nap? You just got up!”

“Yeah, but its rooh-tine!”

Fast forward to a few days ago, when a special uncle of Amore and Dolce’s sent an email to Malcolm and I. Uncle Dan is from D.C. and is especially fond of the girls. He understands how our world revolves around the dogs and he most definitely understands Malcolm and his ‘rooh-tines’. The email included a short poem his brother-in-law had written. It is spot on.

Until I had a dogI never knew how sweet a routine could be.

I hear her stir, subtly, and I think she hears me.

She eagerly waits for my door to open in the morning.

We both stretch when I emerge and her tail gently wags as I rub her head.

Last year, I found the cutest red velveteen holiday collars for the girls. They were adorable, dark red collars with tiny little bells attached. Both Amore and Dolce loved ‘ em! Didn’t want me to take them off in fact. Amore and Dolce paraded around loving the little tinkle of the bells. They would fight over who got to put on the first collar I held out for them, nosing out the other for first dibs on getting the collar on.

They were so cute, I was bound and determined our Christmas picture card would be of our precious dogs with their collars on. The perfect photo-op in mind, I envisioned pinons with snowy boughs in the background, our blue skies above and there in the forefront of our beautiful Southwest backdrop, would be Amore and Dolce sitting side by side with their matching collars on. It so didn’t happen!

misbehaving models

If Dolce was still, Amore was looking off somewhere besides the camera. If Amore was behaving, Dolce had her eyes shut. The girls just didn’t want to sit still and smile for the camera. They didn’t want to sit side by side and they didn’t want to pose. On top of my canine models not cooperating, we didn’t have any snow in the background, nor blue skies on the day we took the shoot. Malcolm, my dog wrangler for the day, laughed at the impossibility of my efforts. My christmas card was doomed from the get-go.

I promised myself this year would be different. This year, our Christmas picture card would feature Amore and Dolce shoulder to shoulder, smiling for the camera with their beautiful red velveteen collars on. And some snow! Fate was on my side. Our first snow drop arrived mid-November. Malcolm and I took the girls for their photo shoot as soon as the roads were plowed. Once the girls were tired out from their first of the season’s frolic in the snow, I started clicking.

Digital cameras are great. Since we don’t have to pay for developing film like in the old days, the pictures are essentially free. It doesn’t matter how many bad shots you take, how many pic’s are deleted, somewhere in the day’s photo session there would be a good to great shot. Between cropping and tint adjusting, I was sure I would have the perfect photo.

And I would have. Had I remembered to find and bring the collars.

DAMN and Double Damn! I had my perfect shoulder to shoulder, smiling dog photo sans the collar. I had the snow sans the snow-capped Pinon trees and blue skies. I went with it. My models behaved just enough for me to get that one out fifty perfect photo. The cards went out anyway. Mailed to family and friends, posted on the website to my blogger buddies.

We were fortunate to see more snow flakes over the Christmas weekend. I grabbed my sweet dog wrangler and the camera, loaded up the dogs and headed out for another photo shoot. This time with the collars.

We had our first snow of the season last Sunday. Not much. Not like what they received back East anyway. Maybe two inches. In Santa Fe, two inches of snow is enough to shut down the entire City Different. If we’re fortunate for the snow to fall on a school day, it’s a bonus day of sleeping in a few extra hours and driving in to work at a later hour. Government offices and schools then follow a delayed schedule. Four inches of the white stuff will see me working from home for the day. Malcolm and I live outside of Santa Fe and the few token snow plows never seem to find their way out to us. It’d be different if one of our five esteemed County Commissioners were a close-by neighbor. Sadly however, that’s not the case. Hence, we suffer through snow-covered roads and are dependent on the sun melting our way to town.

Last Sunday it snowed just enough to bring the girls out to the Galisteo Basin to play. There was just enough to leave a distinguishable trail of paw prints. Just enough for our dogs to chomp and bite at the powder. Just enough to roll over in and make snow angels. And just enough snow to enjoy life to its fullest.

Dolce was in heaven. Dog heaven. Doggy snow heaven. Our furry little snow bunny immediately ran to find a gentle slope to toboggan down. Her enjoyment comes from plopping on her stomach, rolling over on her back, shaking her booty with a little wiggle to start the move and sliding down the incline. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Until she tires. It’s never-ending.

Then there’s Amore. She runs. Just for the hell of it. She loves to feel the cold snow on her paws, sniff out the fresh scents, bite at the snow as she speeds over the snow. I wish I could catch on camera the times she trips over her two front paws while she tries to grab at the snow and run at the same time. Head over heels, she shakes it off and runs again. She just loves to run.

Amore is at her happiest when at full throttle, barreling down on us. On a good day, and if we are lucky, Amore will put on the front paw brakes within two inches from our knees. On those days when we aren’t so fortunate, we hobble back to the car after being wiped out from a 100 lb. beast. Last Sunday was a good day.

And last Sunday – it was a perfect play day for a first snow. It was a perfect day to make paw prints. And it was a perfect day to enjoy life.

Ever have one of those weeks jammed packed with work, travel, outside life, and company coming to visit at the end of it? Not to mention tending to the busy-every-day-activities of our dogs?

Last week I had one of those hari-kari weeks that included a lot of work, our Association’s Annual Conference causing me to be away from home for four days, Indian Market at the Plaza and company flying in. The best part of my crazy week was of course the company but I still had to get through the rest of it before I could enjoy their visit.

I had everything planned out – down to the littlest detail. My Monday and half of Tuesday was prep work for the Conference. Busy work, copying speaker material, picking up banners from the printers, running errands, finalizing the agendas for meetings. Crossing off items on a long list of “to-do’s”. Packing and hauling conference ‘stuff’. Long hours. It is always frantic performing last-minute details. The other half of Tuesday was travel. I was going to be out-of-town Tues-Fri. Not far. Just Albuquerque. But still away from normalcy. Wednesday through Friday was our Annual Conference. Meetings, speakers, sessions. Wednesday the house-cleaner would be dealing with our dog-dirty house, doing the standard company coming clean. Thursday after work, our dog-sitter would show up to tend to Amore and Dolce while Malcolm drove down to join me at our Celebration Gala and to pick up our visiting friends at the airport, flying from in Hotlanta, GA for Indian Market. Since my conference was over mid-morning on Friday, our Georgia friends enjoyed ABQ for the night before we traveled back up to Santa Fe. And finally, Saturday and Sunday. Indian Market. Fun. Wine. Great friends. Phew! It took a whirlwind to get to the fun part.

I couldn’t do any of this without some key people. My house-cleaner (my one extravagance) and our puppy-sitter (our one necessity). I was reassured the house would be clean and ready for company. I knew the dogs would be reasonably calm after having one of their favorite people care for them. After being away for four days and arriving back home with company in tow, I was comforted knowing all was ready for our guests. It was time to let the weekend start!

So it came as a bit of shock to receive a text from our puppy-sitter on Thursday evening just as the Gala was starting, stating Dolce was barking down in the den area. Unusual behavior for our normally calm girl. Before I could text back with questions, she sent back a photo of the cause. Our little girl had cornered an intruder.

“Look what I found in the guest bathroom!” she wrote. Crap! Shit! Son-of-a-bitch! Oh yeah, this allows for all the cuss words. I had company arriving soon and this little toddler was in their bathroom, up against the tub. It was no wonder Dolce was barking up a storm, calling in the Calvary. Consequential texts informed me all three girls: Dolce, Amore and Gordita had entered the fray. Pandemonium had started. Dogs barking, cat wanting in on the action. Dog drama in an already drama filled week. I’m not sure how she did it, but with my final text from the sitter, I learned the mouse was outside, the girls quiet and lounging around. Gordita sniffing corners and under furniture looking for her lost toy.

Gordita was at it again. Our dear fat cat likes to bring in the outside wonders of the rodent world to play with. Live animated toys to her, she enjoys playing Catch and Release with the damn things. She is a good mouser, but likes them alive. And likes to show off her live catch.

We are used to mice, we live out in the country where they are abundant. It’s one of the reasons we have Gordita. But I certainly don’t want a mouse in the house hours before company is arriving.

I showed Malcolm the text/photo once he arrived at the gala banquet. “Oh shit!” was his only comment.

“Yeah, you took the words right out of my mouth!” I replied, I think the sitter was able to get it out of the house.”

“We owe her some hazard pay!” I added. Malcolm nodded his agreement.

“We won’t say anything to Greg and Laura until Monday when they leave,” Malcolm chuckled. Yeah, right before we drop them off at the airport!” By now both Malcolm and I were starting to laugh over the mouse and our secret.

Like this:

The 40’s were famous for radio series programs, especially situation comedies. One of the more popular shows was “The Life of Riley”, a meat-and-potatoes story of about a Brooklyn family living in California. Blundering Chester A. Riley, was a wing riveter at the fictional Cunningham Aircraft plant in California and his frequent exclamation of indignation – “What a revoltin’ development this is!” became one of the most famous catchphrases of the 1940s.

The radio series also benefited from the huge popularity of support character, Digby “Digger” O’Dell, the friendly undertaker. Chester A. Riley was a sort of lay about, blue-collar worker who always managed to do everything with the minimum of effort, just getting by. Riley managed to change any ant-hill of a problem into a Grade-A disaster! For 8 years, Riley’s weekly mishaps included Digger O’Dell. Riley was constantly getting himself into trouble and Digger was constantly “trying to help him out of a hole” as Digger would have put it. Digger was known for his oft repetitive lines, including puns based on his profession. His signature sign-off, “Cheerio! I’d better be shoveling off” was renowned throughout radio land. And although “The Life of Riley” has long been off the air, buried deep in the annuals of radio sit coms, Digger’s spirit lives on.

Yes, Digger lives on! He lives on in Dolce, channeled into a canine proclivity to dig and bury. Unfortunately, Dolce has inherited Digger’s fondness for, well, for digging. And for burying.

a found Kong

It started as a puppy. Small bushes and plants would be discovered on their sides, roots uprooted, deep holes in the ground found next to their curled up leaves. Dolce’s little snout would be covered with evidence, fresh soil clinging to her nose. Her dirty paws were proof enough she was the culprit, the excavator. Digging replacement plant holes would unearth previously buried treasure; bones, shoes, rag toys, socks, even her precious Kong.

We knew we were in trouble when the graveyard started to grow, when the burial plots started to multiply. What we had thought were gopher holes were in fact Kong entombments. What we believed to be left over potting soil from our garden work was actually a small bone mausoleum. We learned Digger O’Dell lived on.

As Dolce grew older, her dirt crypts grew bigger. Now she hollowed out cavities, body vaults. During the hot summer months, she would snout shovel a small cave to cool off in, her paws furiously digging a sizable hole she could burrow into to escape the day’s heat. We would fill the hole, Dolce would dig another one. We would stuff the crater with rocks, Dolce would find another patch of barren soil to unearth. We would pack the void with brick and debris, and Digger O’Dolch would start again. We would sprinkle cayenne pepper in the soil. She would sniff, sneeze and shovel all in one breath. Our canine grave-digger kept at it.

The dog pen is riddled with graves, burial plots and land mines. Pits and caverns. Holes and voids. It has turned into an ankle-twisting death trap. Malcolm grumbles about buying dirt to fill-in the holes when we live in a desert. Bags and bags of dirt. Used to fill the divots littering the pen. Used to pack in the exposed Kong graves and the bone burial plots. Bags of dirt that gets dug up over and over, again and again.

Yep, Digger O’Dell’s humor might still be able to produce a laugh and a chuckle under today’s comic relief, but it’s Dolce that has the last laugh.

The Galisteo Basin Preserve was once a large cattle ranch. It is miles of cow trails, rutted dirt roads and nature. Old cowboy camps and lean tos dot the countryside with broken-down foundation remains and falling-down corrals. A dry river bed runs through the ranch, it’s eroded banks reaching as high as twenty-to-thirty feet above the sandy river floor in some places. I know of three windmills with water troughs at their base, their blades creaking against the wind as the pump struggles to pull up water for the trough. All combined, it is a rustic reminder of its western heritage and the old frontier.

Just a few miles from our home, the GBP is now a hiker’s mecca. It’s a horse and rider’s trail workout and mountain biker’s nirvana. It’s where we take the girls for their daily walks.

Our first few experiences at the Preserve were riddled with adventure. As Amore scouted for lizards, Tiamo trotted along sniffing every low hanging branch there was. Dolce stayed at our heels. New trails brought new scents and the girls would scatter about to investigate the foreign territory. Once or twice we will catch sight of a coyote, several times we have crossed paths with snakes. We’ve seen evidence of antelope and deer and have heard of sightings of mountain lions. The easy access to water makes the area ideal for wildlife. And koi.

The dogs had a habit of drinking the trough water at the tail end of our hikes. Though we packed water with us to keep the girls hydrated throughout our walks, they like the cold, fresh from the well, water. We make a point to stop at the troughs before loading up into the car, allowing the girls one last sip.

It was on a cold, drizzly January day, the wind kicking up due to an incoming storm, when we were trying to get a quick walk in before being hit with the impending deluge. As we finished our hike and neared the water trough, Tiamo ran ahead to get her fill. At the edge of the trough she stilled, looking intently into the darkened mossy water. We saw she was tracking something but had no idea what. Her quick eyes had spotted movement and she was on it. Waiting just a few seconds, she moved her head in a little circle and before we knew it, leaped over the rim into the water trough. Icy cold water splashed heavily over the sides. Large water droplets landing on both Malcolm and I. Cold, freezing ucky water soaking our sweatshirts. The wake of her splash landing on our boots.

“What the hell?” Malcolm shouted. With a death grip, I grabbed on to the collars of Amore and Dolce, the only foot-loose canines left on dry land. I wasn’t about to let Amore and Dolce follow into the trough along with mama. Malcolm scrambled to get to Tiamo. Once in the trough, Tiamo didn’t want to get out. She had more fish to fry. Literally. Namely the koi hiding deep in the bottom moss of the water tank. Tiamo had gone fishing.

As I held on to the girls, Malcolm struggled to haul Tiamo out of the water. Jumping in was much easier than climbing out. The rim was nothing more than a sharp torch-cut metal edge, hurtful for Tiamo to balance her paws on to jump out. The weight of the water, the slippery moss-covered bottom hindered her escape from the cold water. She was stuck. She was completely soaked, now trembling from the frigid water. The koi forgotten, she wanted out.

There was no two ways about it. Malcolm was going to have to lift her out. He was going to have to reach in the finger-numbing icy water to pull Tiamo out. Cussing like a sailor, Malc stripped off his jacket and sweatshirt, pulled off his gloves and plunged his arms into the water, encircling Tiamo’s belly to heft her out of the water. 100 pounds of basically full on dead weight – this was not going to be an easy feat. As she was clearing the water Tiamo panicked. Back legs kicking, front paws scratching Malcolm’s bare torso, Tiamo twisted and turned for freedom. Malcolm and Tiamo landed on dry land but both were soaking wet. And freezing. And stinky from the stagnant waters. Malcolm was covered in stinky mossy uck. Tiamo just stunk.

“Shotgun!” my nephew shouted as he ran in front of his siblings, edging them out of the opportunity to sit in the front of the car. He was all of ten years old at the time, but could outrun his sisters. Riding shotgun has probably started and/or caused more fights among children than anything else.

“You had it last time” cried his younger sister. It’s my turn!”

“I was here first!” he taunted back. “First come, first serve!” he added for good measure as he quickly jumped in the front seat and buckled up. He wasn’t budging. And so the childish argument starts, only to continue again on the next trip in the car.

Dolce and Amore loading up in the SUV

Dolce and Amore have the same disagreement over who gets dibs to sit in the front of the car. It’s a sure bet, Dolce will be in the car, haunches down in the front passenger seat before Amore has even thought about jumping up into the car. Safely ensconced deep into the bucket seat, Dolce has squatter’s rights in the front. Until there is a passenger. Or another canine that wants the same piece of vehicle territory. We are talking prime real estate here and it comes with a price.

For the first four years of Dolce and Amore’s life, if I was riding along on the trip, I usually had a dog in my lap. Most likely it was Dolce. Tiamo would position herself in the middle of the back seat, peering through the two front seats, enjoying the air conditioning that blew towards her between the valley of the front bucket seats. In deference to Mama, Amore tucked herself way in the back of the SUV.

Dolce riding shotgun!

The sitting dynamics changed drastically once there were only two dogs along for the ride. Boy did it change! Amore decided she had enough of sitting in the back-end of the car and it was time to move up front. Once she made her decision, she didn’t let anything stop her. It didn’t matter that I was already sitting in the chair, she didn’t care that Dolce was already in my lap. In Amore’s mind, it was time for a change. There was a new sheriff in town and there was going to be a shift in the sitting arrangements. The names on the place cards were to be rewritten. Now.

It so happened on the day Amore came to the conclusion it was her turn to ride shotgun, I was coming along as well. We were only going to the market a few miles up the road for a few items for dinner. I told Malcolm to let me get in the car first, so I could buckle up before he let the dogs in, I then gave him the nod of “okay” once I was situated in the seat. He called to the girls and the race was on! Dolce shot ahead of Amore in her rabid eagerness to be on my lap. She plopped herself down across my lap, her back-end hanging over the middle console, her head already poking out of the open window. Only this time, Amore had designs on front. Before Malcolm had a chance to arrange himself in the front driver’s seat, Amore had jumped in his place. Though Malcolm patiently ordered Amore to move, Amore had other plans. Oh, she moved all right. She moved right across the console onto the edge of my seat, pushing Dolce down into the floorboard of the car. It wasn’t a good move. I now had two huge dogs in the front passenger seat with me somewhere underneath it all. Fur, paws and tails covered me. Dolce was spitting mad she had been usurped from her perch. Amore was gloating she had outmaneuvered Dolce. The childish argument began, a canine fight ensued. I was caught in the middle of it.

Several paw scratches later, I ended up with Amore on my lap and Dolce sulking in the back. She was so upset she had lost her shotgun status, that she wasn’t on my lap, she barked the whole way up to the grocery store, sharing with us her great displeasure. She balefully eyed me from the back of the car. I had turned traitor on her, allowing Amore in her seat. Dolce was one mad mutt.

A disgruntled Dolce sitting in the back

On the return trip home, I decided I would sit in the back seat to avoid all shotgun squabbles. Dolce was only slightly mollified. She liked the idea of being next to be in the back but she still was not happy with the new seating arrangements. Amore’s gloating had dimmed greatly. With me now in the back, she wasn’t so sure she liked her sibling sitting so close to me, she was sure that Dolce would get something she wouldn’t. Her distrust was evident.

Amore peeking from the front sure that something better is happening in the back

The two have grudgingly learned to share riding shotgun. Sometimes sitting side by side, scrunched together in the front seat. It’s a tight fit, with neither willing to give up their chair. Neither budging. Sometimes, one of them cries “uncle” and retreats to the back bench. Once in a while both will forfeit the passenger side, deciding to enjoy the ride in the back back.

I now sit in the back with a bag of doggy treats to soothe the ruffled fur of the displaced mutt.

In general, the most exciting thing that happens to your dog all day is the moment you come home, whether it’s from vacation, work, or just checking the mailbox. Here’s what goes through your dog’s mind during this much-anticipated reunion.

ZZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZzzz …

Ooh! Someone is at the door. Must investigate.

Is this a barking situation? Who is it? Friend or foe? Friend or foe? Friend or- Oh, wait, I hear keys …I know who it is!

Wait, where are you going? Can I come? Ooh, you’re opening the cabinet … I love that cabinet. MY YUMMY, YUMMY TREATS ARE IN THAT CABINET!

Those are for me! Yes please! Wait, what? You want me to sit? Okay, anything for one of my yummy treats. See, I’m sitting! I’m sitting! Look at me! Look how good I’m sitting!

YES! I love my yummy treats so much!

Can I have another one? Pleasepleaseplease? No, no, that wasn’t jumping, I’m just putting my paws up on you to let you know how badly I want … I’m sorry. I just get sooooo excited. Don’t be mad at me. I hate that so much. But you’re still holding one of my yummy treats … do you think you could possibly … Look! I’m sitting! Pleasepleaseplease? PLEASE!?

YES! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I love you so much!

In honor of this wonderful moment, I’m going to go get my favorite, most chewed-upon squeaky toy to show you how much I love you and want to play with you. I want to play and play and play!

Here, take my toy. No, it’s my toy. Really, take my toy. No, you can’t have it. Take my toy. Oh, do we have to stop already? Can I interest you in going back over to my yummy treat cabinet? No?

Ah, more petting and scratching. I love that. I love you. I’m so happy.

Oh sure, you can take your coat off. Absolutely. Go ahead.

But hey, could you take me outside now? I just realized I have to PEE. Can we PLEASE go outside NOW?

the mutt manuscripts
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the mutt manuscripts

Meet the girls!

Two of the most beautiful and very spoiled Bernese Mountain Dogs, whose adorable, funny antics will bring chuckles and smiles and sometimes a few tears as you read their tales. True stories, hilarious escapades, and entertaining dog adventures, all chronicling their heartwarming and humorous capers, along with their playful frolics that often times land these fearless canines in the dog house.

Touching and tender, amusing and comical, these moving narratives and snippets of their lives impart bow-wow wisdom and show the loyalty and love between man's best friend and their human care givers.

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